


Yards: We Go The Extra Mile!

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supermarket AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yards: We Go The Extra Mile!

Lestrade sat back from the computer with a sigh of achievement. The overtime for next week was finally sorted, which meant that he should be able to escape this place and go home. He glanced at his watch. Only an hour late; his wife would be overjoyed.

He rolled his chair to the CCTV unit to take a quick check around the shopfloor and make sure that there were no imminent disasters to sort out before he went. If he got a phone call after he'd only been home half an hour, the wife would go spare.

Cameras 1-3: Checkouts. Busy, but not too busy, and John was at the cigarette kiosk, restocking and keeping an eye out for any overly lengthy queues and potential problem customers.

John was the newest employee at Yards but he'd settled in so well already that it seemed he'd been there for years. Lestrade had taken a bit of a risk with him, really – putting an ex-soldier with PTSD in charge of customer service, possibly the most stressful job in the shop, could have gone very badly, but John seemed to thrive under the pressure of it, managing to be friendly and polite even when dealing with the most inane complaints, and then flicking like a switch to being stern and no-nonsense with troublemakers.

Cameras 4&5: Produce and Fresh Foods. It all looked reasonably well-stocked and tidy, although someone should probably top up the bananas soon. Anderson, the fresh foods section leader, was putting out potatoes, although he seemed to have paused to talk to Donovan. Lestrade watched them chat for several minutes and made a mental note to keep an eye on them, and maybe have a little word. A quick chat between colleagues was fine, but Anderson hadn't touched any stock in nearly three minutes. There wasn't time for that, not with nine cages of delivery still to get through.

Camera 6: Household aisle. Lestrade was met by a sight that chilled his blood. Oh, god. He fumbled for his radio immediately.

“John, get to the household section. Sherlock's talking to a customer.”

He flicked back to the cigarette kiosk in time to see John drop the box he was holding and rush off as quickly as he could without actually running, not even pausing to radio back. Lestrade flicked through the cameras, following his progress, and watched him arrive at the household aisle just as the customer Sherlock was talking to was starting to go an indignant red colour. John took charge of the situation immediately, saying something to Sherlock that made him scowl and turn on his heel, storming towards the back area.

John started talking to the customer, saying something that involved a few hand gestures and a lot of apologetic looks.

A minute later, Sherlock banged into the office, scowling.

“What have I told you about going on the shopfloor unsupervised?” started Lestrade immediately. “You know you're meant to have either John or me with you to avoid just this sort of thing!”

“I needed to see how the hobnobs were selling now they're on promotions,” said Sherlock. “I was only going to be a minute, and then she cornered me. She asked where the eggs were. The eggs! As if there isn't a three foot sign saying 'Eggs', next to a picture of a giant chicken!”

“Sherlock, you have to be polite to the customers,” said Lestrade for what had to be at least the thousandth time.

Sherlock was the best warehouse manager Lestrade had ever known. He knew precisely how much of everything was going to be sold, managing to factor in the weather, holidays and events, current fads and all kinds of other details, so that his orders were almost always just about perfect. Lestrade was the envy of the other managers for how well-organised his warehouse was, with no stacks of over-ordered stock and very few gaps on the shopfloor. Of course, the balance was Sherlock's attitude. No one envied him that.

“I was polite!” said Sherlock. “I _politely_ suggested a trip to the opticians might be necessary, if she couldn't see the sign.”

Lestrade groaned. “You can't say things like that to the customers,” he said. “This is why you're meant to stay in the warehouse! Do I have to call Mycroft about it?”

Sherlock's brother worked at Head Office, in some role that was never clearly defined. Before John had starting working with them, Lestrade had had to call him every few weeks in order to get him to come and have a word with Sherlock. Since John, he'd only been in twice, and at least one of those occasions had been merely to vet John. Lestrade had yet to work out what it was that John did that kept Sherlock in control, but just as long as it kept working, he'd keep giving John glowing reviews and whatever holiday requests he put in.

Sherlock scowled. “No need,” he bit out.

John came in. “All sorted,” he said. “I told her that he was having a difficult time personally at the moment, made vague references to a dying family member, and gave her a box of chocolates as an apology. She left about as happy as she was going to get.”

Lestrade let out a sigh of relief. “No official complaint?” he asked.

“Nope,” said John with a grin.

Lestrade gave him a grateful smile. John was just about the person in the world who'd be able to soothe a customer so well after an encounter with Sherlock that they didn't immediately write to Head Office, demanding his head on a platter.

John turned his gaze on Sherlock and the smile disappeared, replaced by a glare. “What did we say about you going on the shopfloor?” he asked.

Sherlock twitched, almost guiltily, which Lestrade found fascinating. “John, I was just checking the hobnobs to-”

“No excuses, Sherlock,” cut in John. “You ask me to do it – I'm sure you could work out how to use a radio if you just put your mind to it – or you take someone who can deal with customers with you. We won't sell any bloody hobnobs at all if you scare all the customers away!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Lestrade has already said all this.”

“Well, it bears to be repeated, as you can't seem to grasp the concept,” said John. “It's very simple, Sherlock! Stop making me have to repeat it, or I'll drum it into you with the shutter hook!”

There was a tap at the door. Anderson was standing in the doorway, looking from Sherlock to John with a glint of malicious amusement. “All right to come in and do my order?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Lestrade, moving back from the computer for him.

“I've already done it for you,” said Sherlock.

“What?” asked Anderson. “Why?”

“Because you're an idiot,” said Sherlock. “I saw the waste figures for last week – what were you thinking, ordering that much salad?”

“What do you know about how much salad we sell?” asked Anderson. “You're on ambient! Lestrade, come on, you can't let him get away with this!”

“How many cases of strawberries were you going to order?” countered Sherlock.

Anderson hesitated. “Two,” he said.

Sherlock let out a groan and turned to Lestrade. “How can you let him get away with this rubbish?” He turned back to Anderson. “Do you even know what's coming in on allocation?”

“All right, Sherlock, that's enough,” said Lestrade, stepping in before Anderson exploded. “Nothing to be done now if you've already sent it, but in future leave the fresh order for Anderson, okay? It is his job.”

Sherlock muttered something under his breath that included the word 'incompetent', but it was quiet enough that Lestrade could pretend he hadn't heard it.

“Coo-eee, dears,” said Mrs. Hudson, coming in. “Is the computer free? I just want to send my order, then I'm going home.”

Mrs. Hudson ran the bakery, and had done since long before Lestrade had even considered a career in retail. Somehow, unlike everyone else in the shop, she always managed to be cheerful and friendly, so it was always a relief to see her.

“It's free,” said Sherlock, moving so that she could get to it.

“Oh, you let her do her own order,” said Anderson bitterly.

“Of course,” said Sherlock. “She's not an idiot.”

Anderson's glare grew even stronger.

“Oh, you are sweet,” said Mrs. Hudson, possibly the only person who thought Sherlock could ever be sweet. She petted his arm and settled down at the computer.

There were running steps in the corridor and Molly burst in. “That meat thief's in again,” she panted. “The one who looks like a reject from Eastenders.”

Sherlock and John ran out without another word and Lestrade turned back to the CCTV. None of the shoplifters they got in knew what to do when faced with an angry ex-soldier and a man who was giving them a gleeful, unhinged look whilst demanding that they open up their bags, and it was always a treat to watch them go from swaggering self-confidence to bewildered what-the-hell-just-happened?

“Oh, look at them go,” said Mrs. Hudson fondly. “It's not decent.”

“I hope they get to tackle him,” said Molly with a slightly bloodthirsty edge to her voice. Lestrade was never quite sure what to make of her – on the surface, she seemed like a nice, sweet girl. A bit naive maybe, but she kept the deli counter in order and paid attention to the food safety guidelines, which was more than he could say about her predecessor. Still, there was something about the way she sliced up meat joints with a little smile and a forceful hand that made him think of cadavers and autopsies. It was unsettling.

On screen, the meat thief was stopped in the doorway, saying something as Sherlock and John advanced on him. Lestrade couldn't really see his face on CCTV with that ridiculous flat cap in the way, but he knew who he was. Repeat offender, barred from the store, but still came in whenever he could to fill up his bag with steak and joints. Well, he'd regret coming in today.

John and Sherlock got close enough to be threatening and the thief said something else, then made a dash for it, chucking his bag of meat at Sherlock as he went. In most stores, the fact that they'd got the stock back would be enough and they'd have let him go. You really weren't meant to chase shoplifters outside the shop, in case they turned violent.

John and Sherlock, of course, didn't care two figs for that.

Lestrade switched to the outside camera just in time to see John throw himself at the thief, both of them going down in a tangle of limbs.

“Oh,” said Molly admiringly.

A moment later, Sherlock was there, hoisting the thief off John and holding him in an armlock, and Lestrade sighed and reached for the phone. Yet another citizen's arrest for the local PCSOs to deal with. One day they were going to stop picking up the phone when they saw the store's number.

Sherlock and John dragged the thief out the back and sat him on a chair, in full view of one of the cameras so that they couldn't get accused of any funny business. From inside the office, Lestrade heard Sherlock bark, “Anderson! Watch him!” and then heard him and John rush off up the stairs to the warehouse.

With a sense of resignation, he switched to Camera 19: Warehouse, just in time to see Sherlock push John up against a stack of beer boxes and kiss him as if they were both dying. Lestrade flicked away again and sighed. He should probably have a word with them about that, as well. He really wasn't going to get to go home for a while. Christ, who'd be a retail manager?


End file.
